Her name meant nothing to him (names had never been his strong point and no matter how attracted he was to someone there was a good chance he would forget their name by the end of their conversation), so he continued chatting politely.
"Flowers, huh? Can't say I know much about them one way or the other, but they certainly looked nice." He grinned but it faltered a bit upon hearing 'my own kind.' What kind was she, exactly? "So you've got your own company then? Securing a charity auction must not be easy."
His hand reached into his pocket for his cigarettes but he stopped himself. Not right, not right. But oh- his hand connected with something smooth and cold and he had completely forgotten about his flask. He happily pulled it out instead.
"I guess I won't have to steal your champagne after all," he commented, unscrewing the cap. Just cheap Grindy's vodka, but alcohol was alcohol. He took a swig and let out a deep breath as if he hadn't had a drop all day. "This is much better than being inside. Are you friends inside going to get anxious you're not in there?"
He had a bad habit of assuming witches didn't travel alone.